


The Final Ecstasy

by Shadsie



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: An asexual tries to write sex sorry, Blood, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death Ritual, Gore, Graphic Brutal Violence, Horde Clone lifeforce fluid, Horde Cult, Horror, How the Moutain Dew is made, I can't believe my first explicit-labeled fic is for friggin' She-Ra, I left the genitalia ambigious, If any members of my family find this it was a challenge fic, Imagine what you want the clones to have, Other, This is bl00dw1tch's fault, butchery, discord prompt, sex ritual, stretching my horror-legs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24332107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadsie/pseuds/Shadsie
Summary: Horde Prime discovers a clone with a little wear and tear from battle.  He decides to gift him with one of the Horde's highest honors: The opportunity to replenish and rejuvenate his brothers - and most of all, Prime.  The gift comes with a glimpse of a hidden truth.
Relationships: Horde Prime / Clones, Horde Prime / Original Clone Character
Comments: 9
Kudos: 45





	The Final Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bl00dw1tch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bl00dw1tch/gifts).



**The Final Ecstasy**  
  
  
  
Horde Prime looked ahead. An instantaneous review of the troops before him noted the one that was beginning to age, the one that had suffered a touch of damage in the last battle. It was nothing that wasn’t easy to repair, but since he had fresh stock awaiting awakening from their tanks on perpetual basis, he decided that it was time for one of the brethren to receive a High Honor.   
  
It wasn’t the Highest Honor – no… that was becoming a Vessel. The bruising and minute muscle-tears that Prime had sensed in this chosen one just wouldn’t do for that. He preferred the pristine, the not-battle-worn bodies for his personal use – ones that would take to the necessary modifications well. The grunt-soldier would be happy, though. How could he not be?   
  
“You,” the Emperor purred, taking his chosen by the cheek. He brushed a thumb over the soft skin and the rigid cheekbone. They were things of his own blood and bone – truly features of beauty and excellence. The clone smiled – a subdued smile as he knew the rule about expressing emotions.   
  
“Go ahead,” Prime bade him. “You may express your joy to be in my light, for I have chosen you for a great service.” He curled his fingers around the back of the clone’s head and tenderly stroked his ear. Ah! One of the best features, Prime thought. Not many humanoid species among the planets had such ears. So many had ugly rounded ears or ears that were hidden, mere holes in the side of the head – the first time he’d met a reptilian, he could have spat! The universe would not miss them when he was done. His own ears had the long tips and the little flares before they joined with the head – just one of the many reasons why he was the Ultimate Being. His clones, however, did not get to wear the silver ear-caps that he adorned himself with. Those were for him alone.   
  
Prime’s hand trailed to the clone’s back. “Come, brother. This hour we go to the Table.”   
  
__________________  
  


  
A shock went through every clone on the Velvet Glove. Wherever they were, they knew that a Ritual was about to occur and it sent excitement through them. Large numbers of them made haste to the Ritual Room. Others stayed at their assigned posts. Only those that were needed were called, either to participate or watch. Others were either required at their stations to maintain the ship or were less-than-worthy brothers, either too fresh yet for their first Ritual or under discipline, fresh from a purging.   
  
From behind a green force-field, an imprisoned queen noted the sudden change in the demeanor of her guard. His hair flopped forward and for a moment – just a glimmer – his face held a look of fear.   
  
“What’s wrong?” she asked.  
  
He remained silent and slicked back his hair.   
  
“Answer me!”   
  
She got frustrated and hit the wall. “What’s happening? Did we hit some space-debris or something? Ugh!”  
  
He looked back at her, straight-faced and blank, once again as he had been before, and like any other clone on this ship.   
  
“Tell me!” the prisoner pleaded. “I know I saw something in your face! You were different for a moment! You were afraid!”   
  
The guard turned around and ignored her.   
  
________________________

  
Horde Prime led his chosen one into the Ritual Room. It was in a different area of the ship than the Baptismal. Others followed. The room was dimly lit. Its center was depressed – like a dry pool, and the floor was a lattice of metal grates. In the center of it was a large table. Chains with hooks hung from the ceiling.   
  
“Replenishment! Rejuvenation! Reincarnation!” the clones gathered behind Horde Prime and his chosen began to chant. It became a drone that filled the room. 

  
Several senior-clones went to stations around the circular room. They pressed buttons on consoles, which brought up sealed compartments with various tools and smaller tables.   
  
\- Someone from any planet which had people that raised livestock would have recognized these kinds of blocks.   
  
They also withdrew items of clothing from these compartments, suits and aprons made of a black, moisture-repelling substance. The pristine white clothes of Attendants were stashed safely away as the senior-staff stripped down and put on the new attire. Horde Prime did hate any part of him – even extended in his little brothers – to get and stay dirty. He would march them off to the baths after this, stations filled with the refined version of the Substance. What was about to occur was very sloppy work.   
  
Horde Prime stood with the clone chosen for the Ritual before the center Table. He trailed his metal-tipped fingers to the clasps on his cape, gently unlatching it. “Do you understand how lucky you are?” he asked his charge. “What you will do for your brothers? What you will do for me?”   
  
“Yes, Lord Prime!” the clone happily answered.   
  
Prime peeled off the clone’s shirt and ran a claw over the top of one of his bare shoulders. “Ooh, little brother, what is this? A shiver? Are you afraid, or are you delighted?”   
  
“It is beauty to bask in your glow,” the clone answered.  
  
“There is nothing to be afraid of,” Horde Prime purred in ear as he rolled him onto the Ritual Table. The Emperor straddled him, pinning his shoulders firmly to the cold metal. “You are about to become more one with us than you have ever been.”   
  
“Replenishment! Rejuvenation! Reincarnation!” the surrounding clones chanted.   
  
Horde Prime drew his tongue across the pinned clone’s throat, chin and cheek.   
  
_________________

  
  
Elsewhere on the ship, Glimmer’s guard shuddered.   
  
“Hey! Tell me what’s wrong!” the young queen demanded. “Something weird is happening! Don’t give me that blank stare!”   
  
“Replenishment…Rejuvenation….Reincarnation…” the guard whispered wanly.  
  
_________________  
  


  
Prime trailed his hands down the chosen-clone’s bare stomach. He traced around the ports – so unsightly, but necessary for so many things. He uncoupled the cables that served as his “hair” and pressed them – far more gently than he usually logged them into his clones – into the chosen. He latched them into the torso-ports, refraining, for the time being, from logging into the neck-mounted port that led into the brain. The ports on the torso and back led into various organ-systems. It was how they took certain kinds of nourishment and system updates.   
  
Prime smoothed his hands over the man’s chest, pressing them into his ribs. “You can feel me in your very bones now, can’t you?”   
  


The clone dumbly smiled. 

“I can feel the rate of your hearts increasing,” the Emperor said with a smile. “Very good.”   
  
He gave the charge a little stroke over the ear before pulling down the clone’s pants and flicking out his tongue. Prime moved downward, lowering his face with his eternally condescending smile. The clone felt the heat and moisture of his breath on his lower abdomen. Prime had lowered his pinning to the charge’s lower arms as he got into position. “Now, now, not yet, little one. Not yet. Don’t let anticipation be too much for you.”   
  
The clone’s breathing grew heavy. He moaned as he felt moisture and movement upon sensitive places.   
  
“Replenishment, Rejuvenation, Reincarnation!” echoed in the room.   
  
Horde Prime rose up and straddled him full again, four eyes glowing in the darkness. “I do so love my taste,” he said. “Now it is time to bring your flow to peak.”   
  
The things that happened upon the Table were not merely acts of pleasure or possession. There was a practical purpose for everything among the Horde. All beings served Horde Prime in extremely pragmatic ways.   
  
To get the most (as well as the best-flavored) life-force of a clone, the fluids had to flow. A high degree of blood-flow throughout the flesh was vital. Achieving certain biochemistry at the time of harvest yielded the finest results. Horde Prime was nothing if not a gourmet.   
  
“Aaaah! Aaaah!” The clone barked softly.   
  
Horde Prime loomed over him, locking central eyes with him. “Am I hurting you, little brother?”   
  
The clone squirmed and rocked. Prime’s pelvis ground sharply into his own. Things widened and felt like they were tearing.   
  
“L…Lord Prime… it is… my utmost pleasure to serve your will.”   
  
Prime pressed the claws of his thumbs into the sides of the clone’s neck, just above the clavicle. “All beings must suffer to become pure,” he said.   
  
The chanting around them changed from “Replenishment! Rejuvenation! Reincarnation!” to the baptismal-chant. “All beings must suffer to become pure!” A background chorus took up the undertone of “Cast out the shadows!”   
  
The clone on the table gasped as Prime loosed a pair of cables from this torso and lodged them into his neck-port. A rush of chemicals was pumped into him as the two remained joined at the hips. His back arched and he opened his fanged mouth wide. It was a rush of pleasure and agony at once, colliding in a dance that set floating lights at the edges of his vision.   
  
At Prime’s telepathic command, four clones surrounded the table to hold the chosen one down. A pair of others, ones dressed in the black gear, came up beside them brandishing sharp scalpels.   
  
“Enjoy this, brother!” Horde Prime commanded as the scalpels cut into the man on the table. The blades evenly divided the skin of his arms from the elbow-ports down to the wrists. Horde Prime held the clone’s face firmly in his hands. His cables gave the sacrifice on the altar a dose of something akin to a sedative.   
  
It wasn’t that he did not feel the pain of knives slicing through skin, and then through muscle and scraping against bone and the metal of interior machine-components, it was that he did not care. All he cared about was Horde Prime, locking into him, staring down at him.   
  
Waves of pleasure laced with fear made now carefully-exposed veins and arteries throb. The surgeons carefully cut into them at strategic points. The blood flowed red. A clone’s life-fluids did not turn green until after they were properly refined.   
  
Horde Prime ground his hips into him again as he looked up with wide eyes and a lax jaw. “Keep up the flow,” he encouraged. “You are doing so well, sweet little brother.”  
  
Eventually, Prime slid off and out of him as he was weakening. The cables remained to link their brains. Prime moved to let other clones get at the chosen one’s legs and to take curved knives to his sides, dividing the flesh between the ribs. Blood flowed liberally down off of clone-skin, the table, and down into to the grated-floor. It would drip down into the processing-vat, well-conditioned and “sweetened” to Horde Prime’s liking.   
  
The clone on the table gasped and gaped like a fish deprived of water. He was fighting to live. They all did. They took the Honor easily, knowing their fate, but instinct always took over in the end. Horde Prime smiled broadly. This made the living blood flow with ease. It gave the ending-blood, and thus the resultant “amniotic fluid” a pleasant sharpness on the finish.   
  
______________________________

  
“Tell me what is going on!”   
  
Glimmer was ready to throw herself at the force-field, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good.   
  
Her guard had slid to the floor. He sat down on his knees and hugged them. His ears dipped and he stared out into space.   
  
There was certainly something different about him compared to the others.   
  
Just her luck to get the cuckoo-one. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, whoever and whatever he was. He seemed to be deeply, utterly afraid.   
  
She had no idea what his mind was witness to, nor the dormant memories that were being brought up.   
  
The fingers of his right hand twitched as if he was holding a small tool. 

  
  
_______________________________

  
“You get to be privy to a secret, little brother,” Horde Prime said with a smile as he stared deeply into the dying clone’s eyes. He snapped his fingers and cut off part of his connection to the other clones. He focused his mind to the one on the Table.   
  
The sacrifice stared up into his eyes as they exchanged silent memories. The clone’s life flashed before his eyes – decanting, corridor-guarding, ship-maintenance, his daily uploads and downloads (he didn’t have a particularly exciting life for most of it), then battle. The colorful furred faces of a feline race spun in his mind’s eye. He shot down warriors with blasters. Prime sent a shot of pain into him when he recalled a hint of (regret?) shooting down a fleeing kitten as he strode through the burning remains of a village.   
  
Horde Prime was right. It was wrong of him to have such a feeling. Even the young who were among those that did not embrace his light deserved oblivion. (That was right?) Another shot of pain.   
  
The clone beheld the face of his god – stark white in the dim light, four eyes and fangs aglow, green with the pure essence of Life itself.   
  
The image shifted. It grew black, like an oil-slick, like the edges of the most ancient reaches of space they’d been to where there was no horizon because the stars had died.  
  
Horde Prime was all – the Light, the Darkness, the Void.   
  
The clone’s muscles relaxed as he embraced the Void.   
  
Horde Prime uncoupled from him as his attempts at breathing and heart-beats ceased. The clone was still, limbs and vital arteries flayed open. Prime reconnected to the rest of the hive-mind, the private moment over. Another, at need, had died faithful.   
  
Two Attendants were quick with towels and cleaning fluid to take care of their master’s hygiene. He looked back at the dead clone as he re-fastened his leg-coverings. He psychically commanded the men in the black gear to get to work.   
  
Clones gathered up their fellow, bound his feet and hung him upside-down upon one of the hooks suspended from the ceiling. They brought out large-knives and made quick work of slitting up him the belly and pulling out the pluck. They began to slice through flesh and cartilage, dividing meat from bone and carefully working around buried and fused metal and wiring. Entrails, a large liver, two hearts were plopped messily into metal trays, their destiny to be various solid nutritional formulas or fertilizer for the vegetation-matter supplements that the ship’s crew required or for Prime’s personal garden, where he grew plants that were the last of their kind from various disobedient worlds that he had to destroy.   
  
“Save the head,” Prime commanded. “I rather liked that one.” - An excellent opportunity to get some practice on his taxidermy-hobby.   
  
He stood and watched the butchers work and watched things through their eyes. “Yes…and take a rack of ribs to the kitchen. I am having a queen and her companion for dinner.” 


End file.
